


A Night for Mischief

by slateblueflowers



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Anal Sex, Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale is "just enough of a bastard to be worth knowing" (Good Omens), Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Fishnets, Gabriel is a dick, Halloween, M/M, Rough Sex, Surprise! - Freeform, Werewolf Aziraphale (Good Omens), halloween party, injury descriptions, some non-con touching but not a/c dont worry, wall slam but make it halloween
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-31
Updated: 2020-10-31
Packaged: 2021-03-08 21:42:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,405
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27313522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/slateblueflowers/pseuds/slateblueflowers
Summary: “I was going to ask if you were cold, but I don’t really think that’s an issue for you.”
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 14
Kudos: 141
Collections: Top Aziraphale Recs, Trickety-Boo! Exchange





	A Night for Mischief

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MovesLikeBucky](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MovesLikeBucky/gifts).



> This was written for MovesLikeBucky as part of the GO Events Discord Server 'Trickety-Boo' Event! I hope you like it!  
> Spook level 2, NSFW.

Crowley grunted as he attempted to dislodge a scrap of toilet paper from his heel. The scraping of his boot against the pavement was barely audible over the thumping music coming from inside his friend’s house, the beats nearly in time with the purple and green lights flashing in the windows. A thrill of anticipation thrummed through him as he reached for the door -- Anathema’s Halloween parties  _ never _ failed to disappoint. She, like him, appreciated the value of a good old fashioned spooky rager. Gotta make the most of the best night of the year.

Crowley stepped through the front door, closing his eyes and letting the smell of liquor and the deafening music wash over him and sighed contentedly. He felt his shoulders drop and his lips turn upward. He’d have to congratulate Anathema on another job well done before he left. 

He let the door shut behind him and surveyed the crowd warily. Densely-packed rooms weren’t really his scene, but with any luck he could grab a drink and settle into a corner to watch the partygoers. Maybe he could push the memory of last year’s party out of his head. He had been so enamored with Luke that night. If he had only listened to Anathema earlier, he could have saved himself the hurt later, but it wasn’t -- 

Ah, wait, no. He didn’t let himself go down that mental path anymore. He was done with those feelings. 

But, he thought as the music changed tracks, he  _ was _ here tonight, at a friend’s party, and ready to enjoy himself. 

Inhaling deeply, willing his shoulders to drop again, he began maneuvering his way towards the drinks table in the kitchen. Partway across the room, however, a petite body crashed into him from the side. He twisted, attempting to catch her, but felt himself begin to tip over. He flung out his hand and grasped wildly at whatever he could reach -- a table, a person, anything -- and found his hands closing around red fabric. It wasn’t enough to stop his fall, though, and he tumbled to the ground with the other person. Quickly, someone helped the person to their feet, and Crowley was able to make out tattered clothing and zombie makeup. The zombie leaned over him, apologizing profusely but incoherently, and reached out her hands to help him up. He moved his hand to meet hers, but before he could do so he found himself being hoisted off the ground from under his shoulders. Briefly he registered a warm, sturdy presence at his back, and then he was on his feet and finding his bearings. The zombie dragged a hand across her face, slurred an apology once more, and pushed back into the throng of bodies dancing near the speakers. Crowley spotted a group of zombies -- friends, hopefully -- welcoming her back into the fold. 

Chuckling, Crowley turned to take in the owner of the wonderfully strong arms, who was still anxiously watching the toddling zombie. 

A man stood beside him. The first thing Crowley noticed was his hair -- he was ever a sucker for a good head of hair -- and the way the white blond waves caught the flashing lights. His outfit looked out of place for the scene, as he was sporting a dress shirt, waistcoat, and khaki trousers. And  _ dress shoes. _ All under a red cape. 

“Knight in shining armor, you are,” Crowley grinned. 

“Not tonight, I’m afraid,” he responded, gesturing at the cape draped around his shoulders. Crowley tried not to stare at the way his rolled up sleeves framed strong forearms, and he _definitely_ did not stare at the enticing tuft of chest hair peeking out from his open top buttons. The man turned, revealing the most astonishingly blue eyes Crowley had ever seen. And then he smiled -- oh, he _smiled_ \-- and Crowley knew he was done for. “But we do seem to match.”

“I -- what?” 

The man gestured at Crowley’s head, and he suddenly remembered that it’s Halloween, and he’s at a Halloween party, wearing a Halloween costume. 

“Oh, right!” he said excitedly, and pulled the mask off his face, quickly running his hands through his shoulder length hair. The mask was one of those big rubbery ones made to look like a werewolf, with cheap fake fur, tufted ears and too many teeth. He had grabbed it on a lark at Tesco the previous week, knowing full well it would be the only thing designating his fishnets, short shorts, and v-neck as a ‘Halloween costume.’ “Do you like it? Feel threatened?” Crowley curled his fingers like claws. 

“Hardly likely,” Red Riding Hood scoffed, “I passed scarier wolves on my way here tonight.” 

Crowley brought a hand to his chest, affronted. “I don’t remember Red Riding Hood being so snarky.” 

“Seems you’ve been reading the wrong translations.” 

Crowley could only grin wider. “Crowley,” he said, sticking out his hand. 

The man allowed a small smile. “Aziraphale,” he responded. 

“Aziraphale,” he repeated, testing the word out for himself. “Goodness.” 

“Yes, I rather am.” 

“Oho, well done. Drinks, then?” 

“Please. Red wine for me.” 

“Love to. Back in a tick.” 

Crowley made quick work of the drinks, opening a bottle of red wine for Aziraphale and pouring a whiskey cocktail for himself. He would never admit it to  _ anyone _ but Anathema, but mixing bourbon and her American sweet tea was, unfortunately, delicious. He gathered the drinks and headed towards Aziraphale, who had commandeered a nearby couch. And if he purposely played up the natural swing of his hips, well. Who could say. 

“Good Lord, have you brought me an  _ entire bottle?” _ The incredulity of his voice was betrayed by the eager way his hands reached for the wine. His smile lit up his entire face, cheeks rounded and eyes crinkling adorably. Crowley mourned its loss when Aziraphale moved to take a sip, but was immediately gifted with the sight of his lips surrounding the opening of the bottle. Crowley watched the man’s eyes flutter slightly as he drank deeply, quickly finding himself needing to pay much more attention to his own drink if he wanted to remain seated comfortably for much longer. 

“So,” Crowley managed, “are you friends with Anathema?” 

“Anathema?” 

“Anathema. This is her house.” 

“Oh! No, I’m afraid not. I was dragged along by Harriet over there,” he inclined his head towards a cluster standing near the living room entrance. “Harry’s an old friend of mine. Our families have been friends for generations.” One of the group, a woman with bright red lips and an apple in hand, turned and caught their eye. She waved, realized Crowley was on the same couch, and wiggled her eyebrows dramatically before turning again. 

Aziraphale cleared his throat, tugging slightly at his waistcoat. It looked soft. It looked very soft. Crowley wanted to feel how soft it was. 

“And you?” 

“Hmm?” Crowley attempted to yank his train of thought back to the conversation. “Oh, yeah. Anathema. Yeah. She’s my best mate, actually,” he added, recovering slightly. “Has been since we were at uni,” Crowley winked. “Means I know where the best booze is kept.” 

A blush visible even in the dim lighting of the party was answer enough. Crowley hid his smile in his drink. Without thinking, he adjusted himself on the couch slightly, kicking one fishnet-clad leg out and draping the opposite arm across the back so it would rest behind Aziraphale. Which was fine. Crowley had done this loads of times. He could be smooth. 

Crowley cast his eyes back to Aziraphale, who had somehow produced a small pastry in the few seconds he wasn’t looking. “Wh. Where did you…?”

Aziraphale tutted and leaned closer, landing a hand on Crowley’s knee. His heart skipped. 

“My dear, surely you know what Red Riding Hood was doing in the forest all alone.” 

Crowley was certain he had known the answer at some point in his life. 

Aziraphale smirked and leaned back. He reached behind the sofa and produced a picnic basket straight out of a storybook, complete with gingham fabric and smelling of freshly baked bread. “I’m so sorry, I’ve been terribly rude. Would you like one, Crowley? They’re all mince, but I assure you they’re wonderful drinking partners.” 

Crowley shrugged and reached forward. The pies weren’t warm anymore, but his stomach did rumble at the sweet aroma. Crowley was never one for pastries -- too sweet for his taste -- but Aziraphale was right. They were good drunk food. 

He flicked his tongue out to catch the crumbs on his lips and realized Aziraphale hadn’t spoken in several seconds. It seemed his eyes were fixed on Crowley, darting between his eyes and his mouth. Crowley scooted even closer, their thighs now touching from hip to knee, and grinned. Aziraphale returned the grin, eyes unable to settle on his eyes or his mouth, until they did settle. They settled to the right of Crowley’s face, and Crowley watched Aziraphale’s expression shift from soft to puzzled. 

“My dear, it looks like you’ve got --” Aziraphale shifted, reaching a hand out to Crowley’s neck, “you’ve got -- how did you get -- is this  _ toilet paper _ in your hair?” He pulls a small scrap of white paper from copper trusses, flicking it to the ground with a pinched look on his face. 

Crowley brought his hand up to his hair and barked a laugh. “Oh, God. Yeah, it’s toilet paper. Was spreading some Halloween cheer earlier tonight.”

“Gracious. And your unsuspecting target?” 

“Now I couldn’t reveal that, could I? What if you’re a snitch? Some sort of --” Crowley breaks off, full of both pride and hatred for himself as he lets the next words out of his mouth “--wolf in sheep’s clothing?” 

Aziraphale clucked. “Little Red Riding Hood would never!”

“Can’t have you running off to the poli--”

“Crowley!” 

“--because if you  _ did,” _ Crowley put a hand on Aziraphale’s knee, “you’d see they have a lovely new modern art exhibit featuring London’s newest up and coming artist, whose medium happens to be toilet tissue.” 

“Crowley!” It was Aziraphale’s turn to howl with laughter. 

Time passed easily with Aziraphale. They covered the usual -- what do you do, where are you from, best and worst Halloween movies -- and the unusual -- best and worst of Poe’s poetry, what wine a vampire would choose to pair with blood, would a tattooed sigil protect someone from demonic possession. Crowley found himself chatting and laughing more freely than he had in months. Their conversation fell so naturally into good natured teasing and spirited debates that Crowley felt like he was talking with an old friend. Their sofa in the corner had transformed into a cozy alcove, a world away from the sweaty writhing mass and rib-vibrating music. Much too soon for Crowley’s liking, Aziraphale had worked his way through over half the bottle and his own ice had melted. 

“Shall I refresh your drink, my dear?” Aziraphale said, taking his cup from him. Crowley felt their fingers brush as he handed the cup over, shivering at the delicate contact. 

The blond rose and headed towards the kitchen. Crowley was letting his eyes linger on the way the man’s hips moved the cape back and forth when he heard his name shouted over the music, puncturing the homey bubble that had formed around the sofa. 

He was in luck, though, as the only other person he wanted to see at this party was confidently staggering towards him.

“Anthony!” Anathema shouted, face flushed and eyes bright behind overlarge glasses. He stood and threw his arms out wide, and Anathema threw herself into his arms. “Anthony! Anthony, I wanted to say hi. I’m so happy you’re here! I just wanted to say hi very quickly because I can’t stay with you long.” She hiccupped violently. “Because -- because -- you see that guy over there?” She pointed at a lost looking man wearing a tricorner hat. Crowley nodded. “That guy? Yeah. I’m gonna have sex with him.” 

“You --” he looked at Anathema, “you know you don’t  _ have _ to have sex with him, right?” 

“No, no, I’m gonna have sex with him.” She caught the astonished look on Crowley’s face and amended herself quickly. “Not tonight! No, I’m far too drunk. But, just, you know. In the future. Gonna have sex. He’s real nice.” 

“Lovely for you, Anathema,” Crowley said, patting her on the head. “Run along then, have fun. Be safe.” 

“Pffft,” Anathema shot over her shoulder as she walked away. “‘Be safe.’ Rich, from you.”

Crowley shot her a look. “No idea what you’re talking about.”

“You do. Speaking of, who’s that blonde guy you’ve been chatting up all night? Just now, with the red thing?”

Crowley couldn’t help the smile. “Aziraphale. He’s a friend of Harry’s.” 

“Ooooh!” Anathema poked at Crowley’s ribs and pitched her voice high. “Someone’s got a crush!” 

He batted her hands away and shushed her, shooting a quick look over his shoulder towards the kitchen. “Would you -- stop -- don’t ruin this for me, Anathema.” His voice softened. “I like him a lot. He’s a good guy. A really good guy.” 

Anathema abandoned her poking and brought Crowley into a hug once more. Crowley made a face but allowed it nonetheless. He noticed a suspiciously playful tilt to her smile as she pulled away and narrowed his eyes. She patted him on the arm and backed away, raising her voice just loud enough for those nearby to hear her. “Get some ass, Anthony!”

Grimacing, he shot her a loving two fingered salute. He brought his arm down and knocked into something firm against his elbow. 

“Anthony, is it?” 

Crowley had prepared to turn and introduce himself -- prepared for the usual ‘It’s Crowley, actually’ -- but the owner of the voice was much closer than he had anticipated. Crowley took a step back to size up the overbearing stranger, expecting some cocky frat-boy schmuck, but finding something far more entertaining. He was right about the cocky frat-boy schmuck, as the man was tall and muscular and had very, very straight teeth -- every bit the man his mother would have loved for him to bring home -- offset by the tightest fitting lederhosen Crowley had ever seen. The shorts and shirt strained against his muscular limbs, but rather than accentuating his form, the garments simply looked like the man had tried to squeeze into a child-sized costume. The man shot him what he must have intended to be a sultry smoulder, eyes raking up and down Crowley’s body. 

Crowley knew he didn’t typically go in for the all-American type (all-German, this time?), but he recognized an attractive person when he saw them, and this guy definitely ticked a lot of peoples’ boxes. Maybe on another night, in another universe, Crowley could have been attracted to him, but it certainly wouldn’t be tonight. Not after meeting Aziraphale, and certainly not while this tall stranger was wearing children’s lederhosen. 

Crowley deliberately took his time looking the man up and down. “Oktoberfest at Chippendale’s?” 

Irritation fluttered through the man’s eyes. “I’m meant to be Hansel, actually.”

“That’s...unfortunate.” 

“My twin sister thought it would be funny,” he said with a chuckle that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “But I like your fishnets, though. I noticed them from across the room,” he glanced quickly towards the same pack of people Aziraphale had indicated earlier. “Caught my eye.” Hansel closed the distance Crowley had created between them. 

Crowley stepped back once again. “Thanks, mate. Look, I’m already with someone --” he turned his head towards the kitchen, searching for a shock of white hair, when he felt Hansel step further into his space. Crowley’s back hit the wall.

Hansel touched his arm and leaned his head in close. His breath, hot with whiskey, ghosted across his ear, and Crowley turned his head away in disgust. “How about we head around back so I can appreciate those legs a little better, eh?”

“I don’t think so.” Crowley planted a hand on Hansel’s chest and pushed. The hand on his arm tightened. 

“Let me rephrase. I want you, and I get what I want. Come with me out back.”

Oh, _ definitely not. _ Knowing he didn’t stand a chance against the man physically, Crowley opened his mouth to spit something scathing, but he was interrupted by a different voice. A familiar voice. 

“That’s quite enough, Gabriel.” 

Aziraphale had appeared, one hand fixed firmly on Gabriel’s shoulder. The white knuckles and edge to Aziraphale’s eyes informed Crowley of three things: 1) Aziraphale was  _ strong, _ 2) Aziraphale was  _ angry, _ and 3) Crowley liked both of these things  _ immensely. _

Hansel/Gabriel retreated slightly, eyes still roving hungrily up and down Crowley’s body. 

“Oi,” he snapped his fingers, “Eyes are up here.”

Aziraphale maneuvered Gabriel away from Crowley and stepped between the two, back to Crowley. He wasn’t nearly as tall as Gabriel, but there was a bristling tension in his shoulders like lightning crackling before a strike. Gabriel seemed to get the message. He relented, tossing one last hungry look at Crowley before retreating with a scoff. 

Crowley’s shoulders sagged, reaching a hand out to Aziraphale’s shoulder. “A feisty Red Riding Hood, I see.” 

Aziraphale turned around to take him in, mouth twisted with frustrated concern. “Are you alright, my dear?” 

“M’alright so long’s I got you. You’re my guardian angel tonight.” 

“Oh, hush,” Aziraphale replied, attempting and failing to hide a pleased grin. “I saw you two from the kitchen, and, well. Gabriel can be a right pain in the arse. I’m very sorry for his behavior.” 

“Sorry? What’ve you got to be sorry for?” 

“He is, unfortunately, a blood relative.” 

“Yikes.” 

“Yikes, indeed.” Aziraphale had gravitated closer towards Crowley at some point, a fact which Crowley realized with a start. He felt his ears warm and his heart begin to race. His eyes once again unable to choose where to look, between Aziraphale’s eyes -- how were they so piercingly blue even possible? -- and his lips, plump and pink in the dim light. Did he dare reach out and close the distance between them entirely? Well, Halloween  _ was _ a night for mischief. 

“Would you like that drink now, my dear?” 

Crowley, midway through what was going to be a very mischievous movement, at last noticed the cup Aziraphale held in his hand and the wine bottle tucked under his armpit. Had he fended off that twat with only one hand? The thought only served to warm his face further. 

He coughed, hoping that if his rising blush was visible there could at least be some plausible deniability. “Sure, angel.” 

The smirk Crowley received was too satisfied for his liking. So much for plausible deniability. 

Crowley sipped from his cup grumpily. 

“Aziraphale, is this --” 

“American sweet tea with bourbon, yes. That’s what you were drinking earlier, wasn’t it?” 

“Yeah. Guess you’re a mind reader in addition to an angel, Aziraphale.” 

“Just observant, I assure you,” Aziraphale said, took a swig from the bottle, “and certainly not an angel.” 

“Well, cheers anyway.” They tapped the bottle and the cup together, each pulling deeply from the contents. 

Crowley looked out at the room, suddenly feeling like the music was a little too loud and the crowd a little too close. “Do you want to step out for a mo’?” 

Thankfully, Aziraphale seemed relieved at the suggestion. “Very much so. Lead on, my dear.” 

_ My dear.  _ Gosh, this man was a prize. 

They stepped out the back door into the alley. The brisk night air was refreshing after the hot crush of bodies inside, and the quiet a welcome reprieve. Crowley walked further into the alley and found a spot to lean against. He knew how to lean properly. Invitingly. He pressed his back against the cool brick and bent his knee so his foot lay flat against the wall. He casually lolled his head towards Aziraphale. “You coming?”

Rolling his eyes, Aziraphale followed, pausing near Crowley. “You know, I’d join you, but I don’t want to dirty my cape.”

“Oh no,” Crowley said between sips, “can’t have that.” The light in the alleyway was slightly brighter than indoors, and Crowley was able to see the crushed velvet of the red cloak. It shimmered when the wind blew just right. 

A pause fell between them, heavy as they stared at one another. The electricity was back, prickling the space between them with silent potential. Later, they would be unable to remember which one of them moved first, but their lips crushed together and nothing beyond the two of them mattered. There was no hesitation, no coy hand brought to trace the other’s features, no sweet declaration of love. Just a meeting of lips, hands fisted in hair and clothing, a knee between Crowley’s legs. 

Aziraphale’s body pinned Crowley to the wall as he brought a hand down to cup Crowley’s arse over his shorts. Crowley tried to return the gesture but found himself with a handful of crushed velvet. He remembered his campy wolf mask and managed to smirk into Aziraphale’s kiss. Wrapping his hands firmly around Aziraphale’s midsection, he used his weight to spin the two of them around. A breath escaped Aziraphale as his back made contact with the wall and he moaned, diving in to recapture Crowley’s mouth. Crowley ducked his head to nip at Aziraphale’s neck. 

“Wouldn’t be a very good Big Bad Wolf if I let you handle me that way, would I?” Crowley murmured into the skin under Aziraphale’s jaw. Aziraphale tilted his neck to allow Crowley easier access, hands pressing Crowley’s hips to his own. Crowley groaned at the contact, sucking Aziraphale’s neck more firmly. 

“Can I leave a mark? Is that okay?”

“God, yes, Crowley. Yes,” Aziraphale breathed. He brought his hand up to tangle in Crowley’s hair, gripping with just enough force to make Crowley’s scalp tingle. Crowley redoubled his efforts, licking and sucking at the plush neck before him. 

A hand reached into the neck of Crowley’s shirt, which Crowley thought was a pleasant development until it yanked him backwards. Crowley had no time to react before stumbling backwards, the stomping of his thick-soled boots echoing through the alley. He met Aziraphale’s eyes briefly, catching a glimpse of red lips, flushed cheeks, and wide eyes before he felt a force push him bodily down the alley. 

Crowley stumbled. Something was holding his bicep in a vice-like grip, unyielding and sharp like nothing he’d ever felt before. Claws? What the fuck was happening? 

He turned to face a broad shouldered beast. It stood tall on hind legs, paws planted firmly on the ground as its glowing violet eyes roved intently across Crowley’s body. Streetlights illuminated rippling muscles under thick dark grey fur. The hand that gripped his bicep was clawed, hairy, and digging painfully into his arm. Blood welled up where the nails cut into his skin. Tufted ears framed the beast’s face, dark grey fur turning nearly black near the snout. Crowley’s mouth went dry as he clocked the teeth visible through the beast’s snarl. Wildly, the only thing that he could think was  _ ‘My, what big teeth you have.’  _

The beast grabbed Crowley with enormous hands and tossed him further down the alley. He flew through the air like a ragdoll, limbs flailing to catch himself before he landed hard on the pavement. He slammed into the ground, wind thoroughly knocked out of him and ears ringing. Rolling onto his stomach, he drew in a deep, rattling breath and desperately reached out in front of him, scrabbling at the ground to crawl away from the beast. 

He braced himself for a hand curled around his ankle, a foot on his back, anything, but the moment didn’t come. Oh God. Aziraphale. He dragged himself to his feet, one arm clutching his middle, and began staggering back down the alley. His ears, still ringing, didn’t register the quiet of the alley.

It was empty. 

He whirled (okay, tottered) around. Nothing. 

A snarl reached Crowley’s ears. Fabric ripping, an answering roar. Crowley lurched towards the street, following the noises, terrified and searching frantically for Aziraphale. He spotted the red cloak several meters away, shredded and muddy, the deep red shimmering like blood against the pavement. Crowley’s stomach turned to ice as he made his way clumsily out of the alley.

The street, deserted and washed in yellow streetlight, held two figures crouched and circling one another. The dark grey beast made a move towards the other, a creature of similar size but covered in blindingly white fur. 

Crowley ducked quickly behind a bin, not wanting to draw the ire of  _ two _ beasts. His hands, braced for gravel, landed on something soft. A pale waistcoat peeked through his fingers. He lifted it in wonder and found a crumpled shirt, beige trousers and familiar brown oxfords. Crowley’s head swiveled slowly on his shoulders, turning to take in the scene in the alley once more. He focused closer on the second creature’s white fur. It was textured, all too similar to delicate waves he had buried his hands in several minutes earlier. His blood froze. 

That -- that couldn’t be. Couldn’t be him. Could it? Crowley replayed their night in his head -- He had lifted Crowley up so easily. His chest hair, perfectly white, thicker than what he’d expected, but he hadn’t spared a second thought about it, just got more excited to run his fingers through it. He had known his drink order. From his breath?  _ I passed scarier wolves on my way here tonight.  _ Jesus Christ. The Red Riding Hood costume? God damn it.  _ Mince fucking pies. _

The grey wolf lunged at Aziraphale, who ducked out of his way easily and clawed at its shoulder as it went by, missing by a hair’s breadth. The grey wolf recovered smoothly, spinning and barreling towards Aziraphale’s hind legs. The two crashed to the ground, grunting and snarling at each other. 

Aziraphale rolled onto his back, positioned his feet squarely on the grey wolf’s chest, and heaved. The wolf was flung up and over Aziraphale’s head, falling onto its own back with a yelp. 

Aziraphale returned to his feet, teeth bared. “Gabriel,” he said. Hungry yellow eyes flashed through Crowley’s mind. “Leave.” 

“I told you, Aziraphale,” Gabriel said, advancing on Aziraphale once again, “I  _ always _ get what I want.” Violet eyes flicked towards the bin barely blocking Crowley from view. 

Aziraphale growled in response, low and guttural, and moved quickly to put himself between Crowley and Gabriel. 

“Go  _ home, _ Gabriel,” Aziraphale repeated. 

“Not until I get what’s mine.” Gabriel leaped towards Aziraphale once again, this time aiming for his torso. Unwilling to cede his position, Aziraphale’s hind legs bent to absorb the impact. The two wolves wrestled together for a moment. Crowley heard a yowl from the tussle, gasping when he saw brilliant red bloom across white fur. He stood, ready to rush in like the fool he was, when Aziraphale made his move. 

Aziraphale maneuvered Gabriel onto his back, crushing his forearm into Gabriel’s throat. White fur stood on end as Aziraphale leaned more of his weight onto Gabriel, who started choking and spluttering. 

“Aziraphale,” he wheezed, tapping the white shoulder above him, but it didn’t move. 

Aziraphale leaned in close to Gabriel’s ear, and Crowley strained to hear his next words. “Go home, Gabriel. Crowley isn’t something to be seized, something to possess, and he certainly isn’t yours. Go. Home.” 

The grey head nodded quickly, violet eyes wide. “Fine.” 

At last, Aziraphale let up. He climbed to his feet, keeping his back to Crowley, and waited for Gabriel to move. Leaning up on his elbows, the grey wolf shot Crowley a final scathing look before turning to lope into the darkness, gone at last.

Crowley slumped against the bin, relieved to see the back of him once again. “Aziraphale,” he breathed. Having finally caught up to the situation, his legs gave out and he clunked noisily into the chainlink fence behind him, sliding onto the ground.

Aziraphale pivoted, turning to face. “Crowley,” he said, “Crowley, I’m so sorry.” 

From his spot on the ground, Crowley could see the tension in Aziraphale’s body, the way his shoulders curled inward and his hesitant half-step forward. “Are you alright?” he asked, voice a phantom of his earlier commanding growls.

“F-fine, I’m fine,” Crowley responded, meeting the piercingly blue eyes he’d stared into a half hour ago. “You’re -- you’re -- you’re a --” 

“Wolf, yes,” Aziraphale cut in, his voice tired and sagging. “Crowley, I cannot tell you how sorry I am. I...I’m going to leave, but I’d like to be sure you’re able to walk on your own. Can you stand?”

Crowley stared up at him dazedly. “Can -- can you help me up?” 

“Of course, dear boy,” he murmured, voice tinged with a sad fondness. He held out a large paw. Crowley noticed that where Gabriel’s claws were sharp and dangerous, Aziraphale’s were small, rounded to the point of being blunt. He was heaved to his feet. 

Aziraphale tried to pull his paw back, but Crowley held on. 

“Don’t go.” 

The blue eyes met Crowley’s once again, pleading for something Crowley couldn’t make out. 

“Please? Please stay?” 

“Crowley, I can’t. I’m - I’m not right. I’m a monster, a creature. A  _ beast,”  _ he spat, turning his face to stare daggers at the ground. 

“Hey,” Crowley said quietly, stepping forward and placing a tentative hand on Aziraphale’s chest. 

His eyes remained fixed on the pavement. “I’m sorry.”

“I’m not.”

Aziraphale looked back at Crowley, watery eyes holding a silent question.

“Thank you,” Crowley whispered, “You saved me. Again,” he chuckled, “You hardly know me, you didn’t have to do that.”

“Nonsense.” 

“Still, thank you for looking out for me, angel. For protecting me.” 

They stood together in the deserted street as their adrenaline faded. The wind picked up, bringing the brisk October air with it, and Crowley shivered. 

“I was going to ask if you were cold, but I don’t really think that’s an issue for you.” 

“No, it’s rather not,” Aziraphale returned, allowing the ghost of a smile to cross his face, “but I do think it’s about time I, er, change back, as it were.” 

“Oh!” he started, and let go of Aziraphale’s chest. “Sorry. Uh, yes. Do your thing. Do you want...privacy?” He winced. 

“Actually, if you wouldn’t mind moving the bin just so --” he bit the sentence off as Crowley hurriedly pushed the bin away from the fence to form a makeshift changing spot. He turned around to face the street, giving the wolf some time to himself. He heard a small grunt, the sound of shifting fur, and the unmistakable noise of shirts and pants being done up. 

“Alright. You can look now.”

Aziraphale stood behind the bin holding his waistcoat in one hand and looking expectantly, nervously, at Crowley. 

Crowley smiled. “Hey.” 

The corners of Aziraphale’s mouth twitched up. “Hey.” 

Crowley held out his hand for Aziraphale, who took it shyly, and Crowley drew him near. He brought them chest to chest, dipping his head slightly to look at the shorter man, and took his other hand. He pressed a chaste kiss into white hair, disheveled now. 

“We need to get you somewhere we can bandage up that arm of yours.”

Aziraphale sighed and leaned into Crowley, resting his head on his shoulder. “I have to take a cab to get back to my flat.”

“No worries, we can head back to mine. It’s a quick walk.”

They drew back from the embrace slowly, but kept a set of hands together. Their fingers twined together as they walked slowly through the back streets to Crowley’s flat. 

“Mayfair,” Aziraphale remarked dryly. “Posh.” 

“Oi -- do you want that bandage or no?” 

Aziraphale smiled coquettishly. Bastard.

Minutes later they found themselves in Crowley’s kitchen, Aziraphale’s arm bent awkwardly in the sink to let the water run over it. Crowley had plenty of experience patching up cuts and bruises, particularly during those last few months with Luke, and was able to tend to his own without trouble. Aziraphale’s wound was deeper than Crowley had thought, though, and washing it off only served to expose jagged flesh.

“Don’t you guys have like, super healing powers or something?” Crowley asked worriedly, handing over a fistful of paper towels. 

Aziraphale made an exasperated noise. “No, that’s all hocus pocus, I’m afraid. Nothing but legend. This isn’t the worst I’ve had, though, and certainly not the worst Gabriel has inflicted on me. We go head to head quite often.” He sighed deeply. “Honestly, though, I’m more frustrated with the state of my shirt. I’ll have to replace it, and that means going to my tailor again because my shoulders never fit into clothing off the rack. A  _ complete _ nightmare.” 

Crowley had no idea how to respond to that, so he simply busied himself preparing the gauze and bandage. 

Aziraphale finished rinsing off the gash and turned expectantly towards Crowley. His skin was warm against Crowley’s fingers as he rotated the pale arm for better access. Glancing at Aziraphale once more for confirmation, he carefully covered the wound with gauze. Aziraphale hissed sharply but his arm stayed in place. Crowley wrapped the bandage to hold the gauze in place, securing it in place. He looked at Aziraphale once more to find the man already gazing at him. 

“Thank you.”

“Anytime.” 

The moment stretched out before them. Crowley was suddenly painfully aware of the solitude of the room, hearing only the quiet buzz of the under-cupboard flourescents. He searched Aziraphale’s face, hoping to find what he was feeling himself, the same heated tension he had felt in the alley. 

Aziraphale adjusted slightly, bringing his good arm up to caress Crowley’s cheek. They spoke at once.

“Is it okay if --”

“Aziraphale, can I --” 

Grinning, Crowley leaned down to kiss Aziraphale. He stopped just short of Aziraphale’s lips, not quite making contact, hovering and waiting for Aziraphale to close the gap. 

He did.

Aziraphale’s lips were soft against his own, moving slowly and gently as if Crowley was something precious. The idea tugged at his heart; he had never been kissed with such care before. He deepened the kiss in response, tilting his head and enveloping Aziraphale in his arms. Aziraphale met them with enthusiasm and rested his hands on Crowley’s hips, teasing at the edges of his shirt. His stomach jumped, breath catching, when he felt fingers brush the sliver of skin above his shorts. 

Aziraphale hummed, smiling into the kiss. “My dear,” he said as Crowley began pressing kisses up his jaw, “can we, ah, can we relocate?”

Harumphing petulantly into Aziraphale’s mouth, Crowley disentangled himself and took the blond by the hand, leading him out of the kitchen. He paused. “Uh. Sofa? Or bed?” 

Aziraphale’s eyes glimmered mischievously. “Bed.” 

He sped up their walking, guiding Aziraphale into the bedroom, and was upon him in an instant. His hands grasped at Aziraphale’s buttons, hands shaking as he attempted to undo as many of them as quickly as possible. Aziraphale laughed brightly and removed Crowley’s hands, quickly flicking open his buttons with practiced ease. He rolled his shoulders and the fabric fell to the floor, revealing a myriad of light scars crossing his upper arms and shoulders. Crowley scrambled to get his own shirt off, flinging it unceremoniously across the room and backing Aziraphale up until the back of his knees hit the bed. The two of them tipped over, caring for nothing other than running their hands over as much of the other’s skin as possible. 

Crowley moved down Aziraphale’s body, nipping at sensitive nipples and running his hands up and down Aziraphale’s chest, reveling in the snow white chest hair. “Fuck,” he breathed. “I love this. I love your hair. Fuck, angel, you’re so hot.” 

Aziraphale yanked Crowley back up to his face and pressed their lips together roughly. Crowley moaned appreciatively. 

“Oh,” Aziraphale purred, “you like that?” Crowley nodded his head frantically, moaning louder. “You want it a little rough?” 

“Yes, God, angel, yes. Please.” Crowley babbled, not entirely sure what he was asking for, but he knew he needed it. 

Aziraphale pulled Crowley off him and switched their positions. He held himself over Crowley, arms straight, and watched Crowley pant underneath him. “Take your boots off.” 

Crowley complied, bringing his feet up so he didn’t have to move far, messing with the laces hurriedly to remove them while Aziraphale kicked his own shoes off his feet. 

“And the shorts.” 

“Mmmhmm. Yep.” Wiggling shook the mattress as he shimmied out of the shorts. He brought his hands back up to pull down the fishnet stockings, but Aziraphale stilled his hand. 

“No. Those stay on.” 

A thrill ran up Crowley’s spine and he began his efforts to work Aziraphale out of his trousers, a feat accomplished much more quickly and with far less wiggling. 

Aziraphale gazed down at Crowley’s body, dragging a finger down the center of his chest to his navel. “Beautiful,” he marveled. His finger reached the top of Crowley’s fishnets, toying with the elastic and admiring his choice of underclothes. 

“A g-string, hmm?” 

Crowley shrugged and moved to sit up. “Well if you don’t like them, I can just get going --” 

“Oh no,” Aziraphale said silkily, pushing him firmly back into the mattress. “I like them  _ very _ much. As a matter of fact,” Aziraphale slid down Crowley’s body, nuzzling his face into Crowley’s crotch, “I think you can keep them on for now.” 

Crowley groaned at the contact, curling his hands into Aziraphale’s hair. 

“What do you want tonight, my dear?” 

“Anything. Anything.” 

“I need you to be a touch more specific,” Aziraphale said as he mouthed Crowley’s cock through his pants. 

“You -- please, Aziraphale -- you, I need you in me.” 

“Mmm,” Aziraphale responded. “Lube? Condom?”

“Second drawer,” Crowley gasped as Aziraphale nipped a sensitive spot inside his thighs. He stuck his hand out, grasping blindly for the drawer handle, and managed to find the supplies and press them into Aziraphale’s hand. 

Aziraphale growled lowly, moving Crowley further up onto the bed so his head was near the pillows. He divested himself of his own briefs, and repositioned himself over Crowley. Crowley spread his legs and put his feet flat on the mattress, looking up into Aziraphale’s eyes. 

“Actually,” Aziraphale muttered. He flipped Crowley onto his stomach, hooked his good arm under his stomach and hiked him back onto his knees, so his arse was in the air and his head could rest on his elbows. “Is this alright, darling?” he asked, voice impossibly tender for the moment. 

All Crowley could do was whine in the affirmative. 

“What’s that?”

“Yes,” Crowley managed, “Yes, God, Aziraphale,  _ please.”  _

“Good boy. Do you care for these fishnets very much?”

“What? No, I don’t give a fuck,” Crowley shot over his shoulder, wiggling his arse impatiently. 

“Oh, good.” Aziraphale put two fingers into a hole in the fishnets near Crowley’s arse and pulled, ripping the fishnets so only the g-string stood in his way. He felt Aziraphale push the flimsy string to the side and, with slick fingers, began to rub gently at his rim. 

Crowley made a pitiful sound, urging Aziraphale forward. A finger pushed into the tight heat of Crowley’s arsehole, and his pitiful sounds became more keen than whine.

Soon there was another finger, and a third, and Aziraphale was fucking Crowley slowly on his fingers. He curled them, making the come hither motion, and Crowley yelped and clenched his toes. 

“Fuck!”

“Good, darling?”

“Yes! Yes, fuck, it’s good, Aziraphale!” 

“Are you ready for me?”

“Just fucking do it, please, please angel, fuck me.”

Aziraphale wasted no more time. Crowley heard Aziraphale roll on the condom and felt him position the head against Crowley’s hole. They both moaned as Aziraphale sank into him, slowly, inch by inch, until he was seated entirely in Crowley. Aziraphale began to move, bringing his cock nearly all the way out before pushing it back in. He picked up speed, fucking Crowley intensely and plastered his chest against Crowley’s back. 

Aziraphale grunted as he slammed into Crowley, nearly overcome with the delight of feeling entirely surrounded by Aziraphale. 

The lewd sound of flesh against flesh slowed slightly as Aziraphale reached around to grasp at Crowley’s cock. Remembering the fishnets, he let out a snarl and pulled, tearing another hole in the fabric. At last Crowley felt Aziraphale’s hand around his cock, already dripping with precome, and he began moving his hips in time with Aziraphale’s thrusts, fucking himself on Aziraphale’s cock and hand simultaneously. 

Crowley felt pleasure building up in his spine as Aziraphale worked the two of them into a frenzy. He felt teeth on his shoulder, biting gently, and Crowley let out an obscene noise at the thought of Aziraphale marking him. His orgasm overtook him and he shuddered, hole clenching around cock. He cried out something resembling Aziraphale’s name as hot come coated his stomach and stockings. Aziraphale tightened his grasp and followed Crowley over, thrusting through his peak until he stilled. 

Crowley exhaled. “Fuck, angel, that was…that was…”

“It was,” Aziraphale agreed, slowly removing himself from Crowley, cringing slightly at the lack of contact. Crowley flopped onto his back, lengthening his body to reach tissues on the bedside table. He wiped the come off his chest and removed the stockings carefully, grimacing. 

“Oh my dear, I am sorry about your stockings. I suppose I got rather carried away.” 

“It’s alright, angel. Didn’t like ‘em anyway.”

Aziraphale lifted an eyebrow but said nothing more, tottering off to the bathroom to finish cleaning up. He came back with a wet flannel for Crowley to cover what the tissue left behind.

Crowley took the flannel, mindlessly cleaning himself up and turning the evening over in his mind. He liked Aziraphale. He really liked Aziraphale. Wolf or no, the man was kind and thoughtful and considerate and enough of a bastard to keep Crowley in check. He opened his mouth to speak and turned to Aziraphale, who was standing awkwardly in the doorway, glancing at his clothes and looking unsure if he was welcome anymore. 

“Would you like to…” he paused, unsure of how to go about asking the werewolf you just fucked if he wanted to have breakfast tomorrow. “Do you -- you can stay the night here. If--if you like.”

Aziraphale smiled brilliantly and Crowley’s heart turned over in his chest. 

“Really? That’s okay?”

“‘Course, angel. We could get breakfast tomorrow, too.”

Aziraphale stepped towards the bed and hesitated once more. “Are you  _ sure,  _ Crowley? It’s not -- I’m not,” he gestured at his body, “not a problem?”

“Are you kidding? I think you’re fantastic, Aziraphale. I wouldn’t have you any other way,” he said, ears going pink at his sudden honesty. But Aziraphale remained unconvinced. 

“Look. I really do think you’re wonderful. You’re nice, and brave, and sexy as hell,” Aziraphale’s ears began to match Crowley’s, “and I’d really appreciate it if you let me have a hand in making the decision if we can be together as well.” 

“You’re not afraid of me?”

“No.”

“You’re not scared I’ll hurt you?”

“Not in the slightest.” 

“You’re not scared I’ll...I don’t know, roll over in the middle of the night in wolf form and crush you?”

Crowley crossed his heart solemnly. “It would be an honor.”

“Oh, alright,” Aziraphale smiled begrudgingly, moving to the bed. He pulled the sheets back and had hardly settled in before Crowley had twined his slender limbs around him. A hand rested on Crowley’s head, carding slowly through his hair. A drowsy silence fell over them. 

“You guys don’t eat people, right?”

“Only if they’re irritating.” 

Crowley pulled his head away to look at Aziraphale more properly. His eyes remained closed, affecting sleep, but a smile pulled at the corners of his mouth. 

“Bastard,” Crowley muttered, moving back down to rest his head on Aziraphale’s furry chest. 

“Aziraphale,” he began again.

“Yes, dear.” 

“You have to exercise yourself a lot, right? Lots of parks.”

“I’m going to ignore you now.” 

“Do we need to have beef with breakfast tomorrow?”

Aziraphale shushed him through a smile and snuggled up against him tighter. “Can we go to sleep now?”

“Yeah, angel. I’m done. Sorry.” 

There was silence for a time, and then, because it was still a night for mischief -- 

“You have a friend called Harry. I can’t believe you have a friend called  _ Harry. _ ”


End file.
